Monday, September 19, 2016

They hate Lovecraft because he saw the future, and the evil that the immigrants would commit, and the harm they would do to America, much more clearly than any of the vaunted science fiction writers ever did.

The Street
H.P. Lovecraft

There be those who say that things and places have souls, and there be those who say they have not; I dare not say, myself, but I will tell of The Street.

Men of strength and honour fashioned that Street; good, valiant men of our blood who had come from the Blessed Isles across the sea. At first it was but a path trodden by bearers of water from the woodland spring to the cluster of houses by the beach. Then, as more men came to the growing cluster of houses and looked about for places to dwell, they built cabins along the north side; cabins of stout oaken logs with masonry on the side toward the forest, for many Indians lurked there with fire-arrows. And in a few years more, men built cabins on the south side of The Street.

Up and down The Street walked grave men in conical hats, who most of the time carried muskets or fowling pieces. And there were also their bonneted wives and sober children. In the evening these men with their wives and children would sit about gigantic hearths and read and speak. Very simple were the things of which they read and spoke, yet things which gave them courage and goodness and helped them by day to subdue the forest and till the fields. And the children would listen, and learn of the laws and deeds of old, and of that dear England which they had never seen, or could not remember.

There was war, and thereafter no more Indians troubled The Street. The men, busy with labour, waxed prosperous and as happy as they knew how to be. And the children grew up comfortably, and more families came from the Mother Land to dwell on The Street. And the children’s children, and the newcomers’ children, grew up. The town was now a city, and one by one the cabins gave place to houses; simple, beautiful houses of brick and wood, with stone steps and iron railings and fanlights over the doors. No flimsy creations were these houses, for they were made to serve many a generation. Within there were carven mantels and graceful stairs, and sensible, pleasing furniture, china, and silver, brought from the Mother Land.

So The Street drank in the dreams of a young people, and rejoiced as its dwellers became more graceful and happy. Where once had been only strength and honour, taste and learning now abode as well. Books and paintings and music came to the houses, and the young men went to the university which rose above the plain to the north. In the place of conical hats and muskets there were three-cornered hats and small-swords, and lace and snowy periwigs. And there were cobblestones over which clattered many a blooded horse and rumbled many a gilded coach; and brick sidewalks with horse blocks and hitching-posts.

There were in that Street many trees; elms and oaks and maples of dignity; so that in the summer the scene was all soft verdure and twittering bird-song. And behind the houses were walled rose-gardens with hedged paths and sundials, where at evening the moon and stars would shine bewitchingly while fragrant blossoms glistened with dew.

So The Street dreamed on, past wars, calamities, and changes. Once most of the young men went away, and some never came back. That was when they furled the Old Flag and put up a new Banner of Stripes and Stars. But though men talked of great changes, The Street felt them not; for its folk were still the same, speaking of the old familiar things in the old familiar accents. And the trees still sheltered singing birds, and at evening the moon and stars looked down upon dewy blossoms in the walled rose-gardens.

In time there were no more swords, three-cornered hats, or periwigs in The Street. How strange seemed the denizens with their walking-sticks, tall beavers, and cropped heads! New sounds came from the distance—first strange puffings and shrieks from the river a mile away, and then, many years later, strange puffings and shrieks and rumblings from other directions. The air was not quite so pure as before, but the spirit of the place had not changed. The blood and soul of the people were as the blood and soul of their ancestors who had fashioned The Street. Nor did the spirit change when they tore open the earth to lay down strange pipes, or when they set up tall posts bearing weird wires. There was so much ancient lore in that Street, that the past could not easily be forgotten.

Then came days of evil, when many who had known The Street of old knew it no more; and many knew it, who had not known it before. And those who came were never as those who went away; for their accents were coarse and strident, and their mien and faces unpleasing. Their thoughts, too, fought with the wise, just spirit of The Street, so that The street pined silently as its houses fell into decay, and its trees died one by one, and its rose-gardens grew rank with weeds and waste. But it felt a stir of pride one day when again marched forth young men, some of whom never came back. These young men were clad in blue.

With the years worse fortune came to The Street. Its trees were all gone now, and its rose-gardens were displaced by the backs of cheap, ugly new buildings on parallel streets. Yet the houses remained, despite the ravages of the years and the storms and worms, for they had been made to serve many a generation. New kinds of faces appeared in The Street; swarthy, sinister faces with furtive eyes and odd features, whose owners spoke unfamiliar words and placed signs in known and unknown characters upon most of the musty houses. Push-carts crowded the gutters. A sordid, undefinable stench settled over the place, and the ancient spirit slept.

Great excitement once came to The Street. War and revolution were raging across the seas; a dynasty had collapsed, and its degenerate subjects were flocking with dubious intent to the Western Land. Many of these took lodgings in the battered houses that had once known the songs of birds and the scent of roses. Then the Western Land itself awoke, and joined the Mother Land in her titanic struggle for civilisation. Over the cities once more floated the Old Flag, companioned by the New Flag and by a plainer yet glorious Tri-colour. But not many flags floated over The Street, for therein brooded only fear and hatred and ignorance. Again young men went forth, but not quite as did the young men of those other days. Something was lacking. And the sons of those young men of other days, who did indeed go forth in olive-drab with the true spirit of their ancestors, went from distant places and knew not The Street and its ancient spirit.

Over the seas there was a great victory, and in triumph most of the young men returned. Those who had lacked something lacked it no longer, yet did fear and hatred and ignorance still brood over The Street; for many had stayed behind, and many strangers had come from distant places to the ancient houses. And the young men who had returned dwelt there no longer. Swarthy and sinister were most of the strangers, yet among them one might find a few faces like those who fashioned The Street and moulded its spirit. Like and yet unlike, for there was in the eyes of all a weird, unhealthy glitter as of greed, ambition, vindictiveness, or misguided zeal. Unrest and treason were abroad amongst an evil few who plotted to strike the Western Land its death-blow, that they might mount to power over its ruins; even as assassins had mounted in that unhappy, frozen land from whence most of them had come. And the heart of that plotting was in The Street, whose crumbling houses teemed with alien makers of discord and echoed with the plans and speeches of those who yearned for the appointed day of blood, flame, and crime.

Of the various odd assemblages in The Street, the law said much but could prove little. With great diligence did men of hidden badges linger and listen about such places as Petrovitch’s Bakery, the squalid Rifkin School of Modern Economics, the Circle Social Club, and the Liberty Café. There congregated sinister men in great numbers, yet always was their speech guarded or in a foreign tongue. And still the old houses stood, with their forgotten lore of nobler, departed centuries; of sturdy colonial tenants and dewy rose-gardens in the moonlight. Sometimes a lone poet or traveller would come to view them, and would try to picture them in their vanished glory; yet of such travellers and poets there were not many.

The rumour now spread widely that these houses contained the leaders of a vast band of terrorists, who on a designated day were to launch an orgy of slaughter for the extermination of America and of all the fine old traditions which The Street had loved. Handbills and papers fluttered about filthy gutters; handbills and papers printed in many tongues and in many characters, yet all bearing messages of crime and rebellion. In these writings the people were urged to tear down the laws and virtues that our fathers had exalted; to stamp out the soul of the old America—the soul that was bequeathed through a thousand and a half years of Anglo-Saxon freedom, justice, and moderation. It was said that the swart men who dwelt in The Street and congregated in its rotting edifices were the brains of a hideous revolution; that at their word of command many millions of brainless, besotted beasts would stretch forth their noisome talons from the slums of a thousand cities, burning, slaying, and destroying till the land of our fathers should be no more. All this was said and repeated, and many looked forward in dread to the fourth day of July, about which the strange writings hinted much; yet could nothing be found to place the guilt. None could tell just whose arrest might cut off the damnable plotting at its source. Many times came bands of blue-coated police to search the shaky houses, though at last they ceased to come; for they too had grown tired of law and order, and had abandoned all the city to its fate. Then men in olive-drab came, bearing muskets; till it seemed as if in its sad sleep The Street must have some haunting dreams of those other days, when musket-bearing men in conical hats walked along it from the woodland spring to the cluster of houses by the beach. Yet could no act be performed to check the impending cataclysm; for the swart, sinister men were old in cunning.

So The Street slept uneasily on, till one night there gathered in Petrovitch’s Bakery and the Rifkin School of Modern Economics, and the Circle Social Club, and Liberty Café, and in other places as well, vast hordes of men whose eyes were big with horrible triumph and expectation. Over hidden wires strange messages travelled, and much was said of still stranger messages yet to travel; but most of this was not guessed till afterward,when the Western Land was safe from the peril. The men in olive-drab could not tell what was happening, or what they ought to do; for the swart, sinister men were skilled in subtlety and concealment.

And yet the men in olive-drab will always remember that night, and will speak of The Street as they tell of it to their grandchildren; for many of them were sent there toward morning on a mission unlike that which they had expected. It was known that this nest of anarchy was old, and that the houses were tottering from the ravages of the years and the storms and the worms; yet was the happening of that summer night a surprise because of its very queer uniformity. It was, indeed, an exceedingly singular happening; though after all a simple one. For without warning, in one of the small hours beyond midnight, all the ravages of the years and the storms and the worms came to a tremendous climax; and after the crash there was nothing left standing in The Street save two ancient chimneys and part of a stout brick wall. Nor did anything that had been alive come alive from the ruins.

A poet and a traveller, who came with the mighty crowd that sought the scene, tell odd stories. The poet says that all through the hours before dawn he beheld sordid ruins but indistinctly in the glare of the arc-lights; that there loomed above the wreckage another picture wherein he could descry moonlight and fair houses and elms and oaks and maples of dignity. And the traveller declares that instead of the place’s wonted stench there lingered a delicate fragrance as of roses in full bloom. But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travellers notoriously false?

There be those who say that things and places have souls, and there be those who say they have not; I dare not say, myself, but I have told you of The Street.

I must study politics and war, that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.

Our sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.

Then their kids will put all that music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain on the RMS Titanic, and the ones who survive will start World War I.

It's worth mentioning that Lovecraft was also sad that places his English people had built were taken over by other Whites who he identified with less, and part of what he was doing was recording the history and architecture and ways of his people for future aliens to pore over as he repeatedly wrote of his people doing to the records of various aliens.

Liberals think that the new newcomers will be as capable of living with the Whites as the Whites were with the English, but they are wrong, because these new newcomers had vastly different evolutionary environments and thus behavior, while the English aren't really that different from other Whites beyond appearance and history.

Verne wrote:Lovecraft was not the only one. The SJWs can not handle much. They are offended by anything that anyone might normally say pre 1990. Anything pre 1960s they would die of shock, if they were read it.

"while the English aren't really that different from other Whites beyond appearance and history."

As an Italian immigrant of 3 generations in America, I find this insulting on behalf of the English. It's far more than appearance and history, it also temperament, behavior and preferences. Why Italians and the English get along better than say the English with mongrel hordes is because our levels of civilizational evolution are closer, our general intelligence is within 1SD of each other, and a shared faith has given us a shared moral landscape that both will appeal to when negotiating.

Note that Islamic Euros, like Albanians are usually universally despised unless their Islamism is merely a label and nothing more.

Totally OT but HELP: I've ordered a pistol and just learned it could be 2-3 months before I get it. Manufacturer (Sig Sauer) does production runs of one type of weapon and then switches, and will not disclose (or phone reps do not know) info re production runs. I had hoped to get pistol soon, practice 1-2 times a week, and go for concealed carry before January. Do I give up and buy something else? Weapon on order is Sig P320 compact in .45

Unknown wrote:(((Petrovitch's))) Bakery, the (((Rifkin))) School of Modern Economics.

HP Lovecraft, Red-Pilled.

"And the heart of that plotting was in The Street, whose crumbling houses teemed with alien makers of discord and (((echoed))) with the plans and speeches of those who yearned for the appointed day of blood, flame, and crime."

@Sheila4g, wait for the Sig if you know it's for you. They're my maker of choice. What are your other options or consideration?

Kimber makes a nice .45, I have a Tactical ProII which I know gets lots of guffaws but it gets the job done for me. I have a Sig P239-9mm which is cheap and easy to shoot. And at the end of the day, if you can't hit what you're aiming at a gun won't get the job done.

Just don't go Glock, the grips are too large for my hands, perhaps for yours as well, they are difficult to control, I don't like the trigger safety, and I can't hit shit with them.

"The Shadow Over Innsmouth" is probably a great work which depicts the tragedies of immigration. It hits all the arguments for globalism and destroys them to pieces. Innsmouth is nothing more than a ghost town by the time the protagonist reaches the town and all because the town was overrun by migrants.

It's amazing how much The Street triggers SciFi fans...people have been trying to converge Lovecraft for years and it just does not take. I rest easy in the knowledge that Pink Weird Fiction will not become a thing.

Depends on how much you are set on having that particular firearm and caliber. I'm not obsessive about defensive pistols, all the top-line makers are putting out a decent gun. Get something that you, personally, feel comfortable with and shoot well. Caliber does not count nearly as much as shot placement.

ReactionAn H. P. Lovecraft Encyclopedia describes this story as "manifestly racist". According to Daniel Harms, author of The Encyclopedia Cthulhiana, "If someone came up to me and said, 'Hey Daniel, I think H. P. Lovecraft was a wordy, overly-sentimental bigot whose stories don't make much sense,' this would be the last story I would hand to him to convince him otherwise."

I like how the "Cthulu Mythos" draws in all manner of hacks who think they can distill "cosmic horror" from Lovecraft's works without any of his skill. Invariably, these people consider themselves 'experts' on the subject of Lovecraft.

"Innsmouth is nothing more than a ghost town by the time the protagonist reaches the town and all because the town was overrun by migrants."

Yes, and part of the horror of that story is that in the end, the narrator himself comes to accept this alien inundation, and begins to mix with them. Like many mentally beaten-down Whites just "give up" and begin race-mixing, disappearing to the alien gene pool. Or convert to Islam, and forget their old culture.

This is Lovecraft's version of how Winston learns to love the Big Brother, and surrenders to Otherness:

http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/soi.aspx

"So far I have not shot myself as my uncle Douglas did. I bought an automatic and almost took the step, but certain dreams deterred me. The tense extremes of horror are lessening, and I feel queerly drawn toward the unknown sea-deeps instead of fearing them. I hear and do strange things in sleep, and awake with a kind of exaltation instead of terror. I do not believe I need to wait for the full change as most have waited. If I did, my father would probably shut me up in a sanitarium as my poor little cousin is shut up. Stupendous and unheard-of splendours await me below, and I shall seek them soon. Iä-R’lyeh! Cthulhu fhtagn! Iä! Iä! No, I shall not shoot myself—I cannot be made to shoot myself!

I shall plan my cousin’s escape from that Canton madhouse, and together we shall go to marvel-shadowed Innsmouth. We shall swim out to that brooding reef in the sea and dive down through black abysses to Cyclopean and many-columned Y’ha-nthlei, and in that lair of the Deep Ones we shall dwell amidst wonder and glory for ever."

@Sheila - I really like my Springfield XD-S 4.0. I got it used, and have been please with it. I don't think I have giant man hands, but smaller grips just don't work for me at all. The Springfield is concealable under tank tops in a hybrid holster worn back of hip and fairly accurate for me. (I need to find an outdoor range. We've been TTC, so indoor ranges are out now :/ )

I also really, really love my Steyr 9m. I just don't use it for my daily carry because it's a double stack. However it's super easy to shoot. Got a sweet trigger pull and very accurate. It's concealable too - just harder when you're wearing t-shirts in the summer.

Oh, one downside to the Springfield is lack of external safety. When carrying in a kydex holster I don't care, but I'm a little nervous about trying to use it with something like the cancan because theoretically I could imagine engaging the grip and trigger safeties. Maybe that's over cautious, but that's how I feel about it. I hate my skirt holder and may try something like the cancan, but I'll probably use some sort of additional trigger guard if so.

Sheila4g wrote:Do I give up and buy something else? Weapon on order is Sig P320 compact in .45

You might consider the S&W MP45c or the Shield in 45.

Buds has the Shield and the MP45c and Grabagun has the MP45c in stock. Both are under $500. I liked the MP series, for a striker fired weapon. Ended up selling mine and buying another 1911, I hate striker fired weapons.

What irks me to no end is that these hacks have no issues with using Lovecraft's and Howard's creations, pushing their work in thematic anthologies, promoting it on conventions, sites, forums dedicated to Lovecraft or REH etc... They supposedly loathe them, but they sure love money they bring to the table, not to mention that use of pre-existing mythos makes things so much easier for the kind of hack that is so common in modern genre fiction scene.

And I keep allowing myself to be annoyed by it, instead of accepting that this is common with any sort of "fandom" (starting to loathe that term). Last year I was pleasantly surprised to see Leo Grin standing against SJWs in Robert E Howard "fandom"... then few months later I went to check Cimmerian blog archives, and I discovered that almost all of his ex colleagues turned against him and asked for their names to be removed from blog due to his wrongthink, without even attempting to check his side of the story (and checking up some of their own blogs showed many of them to be very much on the SJW side).

Thanks to all for pistol recommendations (and my apologies to Vox for OT in thread). I am an utter novice and utilizing son's guidance. Could not handle his FN, but did well with his friend's Walther P99. Don't necessarily have tiny hands but find compact/subcompact with small grip (particularly on Sig) comfortable - and have very short fingers (i.e. trigger reach important). Price must be under $600, and want it for concealed carry. Was considering double stack 9, but I did pretty well with a Glock .45 caliber (they didn't have much else to rent at local gun range! will be going to more distant one with greater selection next week) and son wants me to have .45 if I can handle it instead of 9 mm, particularly since hubby just bought a basic AR 15 for my use as rifle. Will consider all suggestions and discuss with son when he returns later this week (out visiting his dad's godfather to do reloading/gunsmithing and zero hubby's G3).

Viisaus wrote:Yes, and part of the horror of that story is that in the end, the narrator himself comes to accept this alien inundation, and begins to mix with them.No, he discovers that he has fish-frog ancestry too, and the dreams and other symptoms (e.g. gills) happen to everyone in his family.

12. GregMan September 19, 2016 12:20 PMFor "revolution" substitute "religion", i.e. Mohammedism, and this story applies to today as well.

indeed.

it appears the primary purpose of Muslim immigration is to do the bombings that ((( Bolsheviks ))) just won't do for themselves any more.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Street_%28short_story%29#Inspiration"The terrorism was also real, and had been going on since 1914 in a series of parcel bombs.[2] In 1919 two campaigns of mail bombing were discovered.[3] In 1920 there would be a major terrorist bomb attack on Wall Street."

the more things change, the more they stay the same.

21. Sheila4g September 19, 2016 12:48 PMDo I give up and buy something else? Weapon on order is Sig P320 compact in .45

nothing wrong with a .22 practice pistol. a .22 is still lethal if used properly. also, since this is just a backup, no reason why you can't get a good, used piece.

and you're a woman so you don't have to worry about Nate calling you a fag for getting one.

28. High tech Redneck September 19, 2016 1:12 PMIt was the Golden Horde and they brought themselves in.

they were not, however, originally Muslim. Islam wasn't instituted until Uzbeg in 1313.

"No, he discovers that he has fish-frog ancestry too, and the dreams and other symptoms (e.g. gills) happen to everyone in his family."

That does not contradict what I said. Anti-racists insist that "we are all the same under the skin," and Antifa enlightenment largely amounts to irrational, mystical realization that "we are all the same."

Sheila -- are you looking for a carry gun!? Look at Kimber: and look in 9mm and .380. I've been (very happily!) carrying the Kimber Micro .380; and just bought my (Kimber Micro) 9mm last week Kimber just started makin' the 9mm! Brilliant guns! (My husband, who did carry (two!) .45s said that, in general, only folks who are PAID to carry a .45 want to; they're heavy.

Check out the Kimber Talk forum; lots of folks there have Sig and Kimbers (and S&Ws and Kahrs and and and....) I can also heartily recommend holsters by Nate Squared Tactical (N8^2 -- run by two guys named Nate!) Comfortable and easy to wear without a belt!

Wow, this hit me like a punch in the gut. I just spent a week in San Francisco which, despite its insane political culture, I consider one of the great cities of the world. Every time I go there, or to California in general, it breaks my heart that we have surrendered such natural beauty, such resources, and such glorious works of Anglo-Saxon man to foreign hordes that had nothing to do with the making of them. I've never quite been able to put into words the mixture of loss, revulsion, and horror that fill me upon seeing California lost to invaders. It was once the jewel in our crown. Thanks for posting this.

Oh Sheila! No no! Please DO NOT just 'go buy a gun' without doing a lot of research (including renting and firing your best options)! (And almost always: taking the advice of men who are NOT in the biz of advising women (no matter how much you love them!) results in you getting a gun that will NOT suit you! You need to buy a gun that you WILL carry and will like to shoot!

Please start your research at the links below -- and try to figure out WHY you want a .45? Is it because your guys recommend it? Are you the same size and strength? same hand size? same arm length? wear the same clothes, go to the same places -- even use the same bathrooms?! -- as they do? Getting the gun that suits them is a mistake!

(I have two .45s (one a Kimber), a S&W .357 magnum (revolver), a S&W 9mm, and the two Kimbers: .380 and 9mm. You MUST Get a gun can can and will comfortably carry. (If you study the ballistics, the 9mm and even the .380 rounds are now suitable for carry: it's "old news" that "you must carry a .45"!)

Fitzrobert - " it breaks my heart that we have surrendered such natural beauty, such resources, and such glorious works of Anglo-Saxon man"

Whatever else may have been the works of Anglo-Saxon man, San Francisco, specifically, isn't, for the most part. The bricks and stone and wood of this place were the work of a decidedly non-Anglo Saxon population. Most of the wonderful buildings of San Francisco were the work of the Irish-Italian-German-French-Slavs-and what have you of the late 19th-early 20th century, because thats who made up the bulk of the population. This was a Catholic city, designed and laid out in large part by the Archdiocese. You can still see their influence in the siting of the city blocks and half-blocks in all residential areas, going back to the 1870's-1880's. The great men of business that financed this all were largely non-Anglo Saxon also. Many were Jews. There were a very large number of Jews in SF very early on, decades before the 1890's rush into the East Coast that Lovecraft was complaining about. And of course a great number of other types were about as well. Chinatown is nothing new here. In the 1890's it was probably bigger than anytime till the 1970's. Then there are the "hispanic" peoples. The Mission was the Mission even a hundred years ago.

You don't GIVE UP and buy something else. The thing you have on order is perfectly fine, but one of the mantras in the self-defense community is "Two is One, One is None". Go ahead and buy your second-choice in .45 that someone locally actually has in stock. You Will Not Regret This.

I think Innsmouth is allegorically about Jews, since Jewish features become more obvious in mischlings over time.

It is directly about the fact that mixed people are blessed with understanding and sympathy for both sides but cursed with the choice of which side to betray.

The only thing an Italian and and English can make by mixing is an American, and the reason this is possible is both are White having evolved together with monogamy for ten thousand years before separating a few thousand years ago. We have done the experiment in America, English + Italian = generic White American, English + Black = mulatto who doesn't really for in no matter how much affirmative action is thrown at him, English + Jew usually identifies with the Jews instead of the Americans.

More generally, regarding Lovecrafts neuroses (a great writer is not immune from neuroses), he was a distinctly parochial fellow, even in an American context. Most of this country was not populated, even initially, by the sort of people with whom he would have felt much kinship. California certainly wasn't.

There are a lot of decently read audiobooks of Lovecraft on YouTube (which I'll listen to while I'm working.) One of his pervasive themes is the destructive nature of moral degeneracy. Sure, blood and race matters, but even within a single family there are branches that degrade and decay because they allow evil to infiltrate their hearts.

So of course SJWs hate his work. Most of them have moral natures that have decayed to the point where they're starting to resemble the other-dimensional horrors that stalk the world in his stories.

Given recent experience with handgun failures I've ssen, I'm now extremely wary of any semi-automatic handgun using a single piece extractor - including the venerable 1911. The problem I've seen in both Sig and Colt pistols is that the single-piece extractor, that operates only through flexure/bending, either deforms slightly, loses its rigidity, or breaks, eventually becoming unable to properly extract a round. I know of no good way to predict exactly when this will happen.

Tellingly, Sig used a single piece flexure extractor design on its earlier production P226's but has since switched to a spring-actuated extractor. Glock has always used spring actuated extractors.

Also, Sheila, in my experience gun salesmen are some of the worst bullshit artists on the planet. Most will pretend to know things that they have absolutely no idea about, and only an honest minority will freely admit to ignorance when faced with a difficult question. So do your own research and trust nothing they say.

Wait, can someone please instruct this Brazilian here? Are you against the 4th of July, then? The Independence? Why? I am asking a sincere question, I am a Brazilian Monarchist myself. So that subject interests me.

Viisaus wrote:That does not contradict what I said. Anti-racists insist that "we are all the same under the skin," and Antifa enlightenment largely amounts to irrational, mystical realization that "we are all the same."Yes it does. Beliefs can't make a person grow gills.

peppermintfrosted wrote:I think Innsmouth is allegorically about Jews, since Jewish features become more obvious in mischlings over time.That would make more sense.

To comment further on San Francisco - Its true that the modern (white) population, much of it, those upper middle class liberals, are in an odd position of delighting in the man-made beauty of the place, the Victorian this and Beaux-Arts that and Art Deco whatever. They don't consider though that they would have objected to the men who made it all. The makers did not believe or think as the modern owners do, and the moderns would consign them to whatever passes for hell in their world view. They hate the men and love their works. It is curious. That said, the ancient makers - the craftsmen, designers and financiers of all this beauty - have much more in common with todays actual foreign immigrants in the city than with the "natives" that now own most of it, because thats what they were, those men of old, foreigners and immigrants.

"the ancient makers - the craftsmen, designers and financiers of all this [San Fran] beauty - have much more in common with todays actual foreign immigrants in the city than with the "natives" that now own most of it, because thats what they were, those men of old, foreigners and immigrants."

Untrue. They may have been immigrants, but they weren't foreign the way a Bangladeshi is foreign. They were men of the West, not foreign imported el cheapo coolies. Their aesthetics, their craftsmanship, their point of view, their ethos -- all were products of the West, not of the Mayans or the Maori. They were part of an ancient cultural, religious, linguistic and racial continuum, even if they were new to this particular piece of that continuum's real estate.

You see a lot of Spanish churches in Mexico, but you don't see a lot of Aztec human-sacrifice pyramids in Budapest. Huh.

"They were men of the West"Mostly - however they were (vast majority) Catholics and they were not Anglo-Saxons. "You see a lot of Spanish churches in Mexico"Yes, and a heck of a lot of urban Beaux-arts buildings also, all made by Mexicans. The Aztec-revival architecture, what there is of it, is a modern affectation by white architects.

This is a very difficult business, making these distinctions. Christian this, but... Anglo-Saxon that, but ... Western that other thing, but ...

In re Mexico - just to complicate matters - consider music. Mexican music of the traditional sort is European, through and through. There are tremendous numbers of Mexican Waltzes and Polkas, Vienna had nothing on them. Mexico was a huge importer of German bandmasters and brass instruments in the 19th century (hence Linda Ronstadt). Agustin Lara, Mexican as can be, wrote "Granada", which might as well be Spain's theme-song. His signature piece, "Maria Bonita", as Mexican as possible, was best sung by Lola Flores, the Spanish flamenco singer from Jerez.

Cultural distinctions are a terrible mess. This is a world of mongrels.

A similiar phenomenon occurred with the novel _The Camp of the Saints_, first published in the early 1970s. The novel is about a mass third world migration to Europe. Reactions to the novel were predictable--dislike from lefties. The novel got a positive review at William F. Buckley's National Review. (I guess National Review wasn't much cucked in those days.)

Similarities between Lovecraft's story, and _The Camp of the Saints_, : (1) the story is prophetic (2) it was disliked by SJWs (3) the story became true in our time

They may end up doing that anyway. Its them or you, whichever is stronger. Since 16th century the country has been in the middle of Great Power arguments. Its not a question of letting them or not. If you want to keep them from holding the whip hand in the China sea, and having effective blackmail over all East Asia, then that is your choice. We are in the middle, and our biggest interest is that this argument does not turn violent.

I've seen it said that horror fiction is about an intrusion. An evil spirit intrudes into a house. An Elder god intrudes into the mind of a human being. Lovecraft saw intrusions going in his world, and the psychological effect of that perhaps gave fuel to his writing

Cultural distinctions are a terrible mess. This is a world of mongrels.

Man do lefties love their unsupported assertions. Of course your only aim is to dilute Western and more specifically Anglo-Saxon accomplishments. This mongrel phenomenon of which you speak must be why Africa is full of skyscrapers and missions to Mars.

"Man do lefties love their unsupported assertions."I am not a "leftie". I am a medieval man, to put it most accurately I think. But that doesn't matter. I am a huge fan of the "west". But the world is a messy place, and cultures interpenetrate and influence each other and cross-influence each other in a rather beautiful dance.

Sheila - When you eventually get your Sig, be sure to check that both magazines actuate the slide stop when empty. Just looked at one a friend recently bought and one of the mags doesn't. And because they are one-piece design, they can't be repaired.

"At the Mountains of Madness" showed a heiroglyphic-based history of the downfall of the region. The superior race enslaved the shoggoths but eventually became lazy to the point the shoggoths rose up and destroyed this higher culture.

A message for any time. Beware complacency in times of plenty, for there is a price to pay.